


The Weirwood, the Wolf, and the Glass Slipper

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairytale, Brothers Grimm, Cinderella - Freeform, Ever After (film), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a girl who loved her father very much….</i>A Cinderella version of Jon/Sansa, mixing elements from the Cinderella stories as told by the Brothers Grimm and the film <i>Ever After</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weirwood, the Wolf, and the Glass Slipper

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Game of Ships’ Golden Ships AU challenge on tumblr, specifically the “fairytale” prompt. Also, this story features R + L = J, for Cinderella’s prince certainly was not her brother…

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a girl who loved her father very much.

For as long as Sansa Stark could remember, she and her father had lived at a little keep next to a big river. Oh, it wasn’t just her and her father, but many servants, farmers, millers, blacksmiths, and all sorts of people who lived on the keep’s land and always called her father “Lord Stark” and bowed their heads when they spoke to him. But to Sansa, her father was her world. She knew that she had a mother, once, but her mother had died of a horrible fever the winter after she had been born. Her grave was on the banks by the river.

Sansa’s father didn’t like talking about the past, and it saddened him for reasons Sansa never quite understood. But sometimes, as he tucked her into bed at night, she was able to persuade him.

“One day I’ll tell you the whole story, my little wolf,” he would often say. “Before you were born, mad King Aerys Targaryen unjustly killed my father and elder brother Brandon, while Prince—now King—Rhaegar had kidnapped my sister Lyanna. So I went to war, along with Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End, Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, and Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun. We lost, and my sister died. Rather than take my life for rebelling against the crown, Rhaegar declared me a traitor, stripped me of my family’s castle Winterfell, and exiled me to this little keep. I cannot complain too much.”

“Why not? You lost your family and your castle, and mother died as well!”

“King Rhaegar showed me as much mercy as would have been shown to him had _he_ been defeated. Perhaps more, if Robert Baratheon ever got his hands on him.” Her father sighed and ruffled Sansa’s hair. “But King Rhaegar had nothing to do with your mother’s death, and nothing he can do can take away all the joy you have brought to my life.”

And so, as their days would often end, her father kissed Sansa good night, leaving her to dream of that wondrous castle named Winterfell, ruled by a solemn, dark-haired king and his radiant queen who naturally had hair as red as an autumn sunset—just like her father and mother.

~

When Sansa was eight, her father announced that he was getting married again, to her delight and the delight of the rest of the keep’s household. Her name was Cersei Lannister, widow of her father’s friend Robert Baratheon, who had recently died in a hunting accident. Cersei would be bringing her three children with her, two young boys and a girl.

“I’ll be getting a mother, a sister, _and_ two brothers, all in one day!” Sansa excitedly told her father.

Her father gave her a smile, trying very hard to keep his usual sadness out of it. “It lightens my heart to see you so happy, Sansa.”

“I’ll be the best of friends with my new siblings!” she paused. “Were their mother and father traitors too?”

“Yes, they were. I’ve told you about Robert before, but it was Cersei’s brother who killed King Aerys, and her father’s men who murdered Princess Elia and her children.”

“So they’ll understand what it’s like to be the children of a traitor, and not have a grand castle to live in.”

“I hope so, dear Sansa, I sincerely hope so.”

~

Before her father left to bring his new bride back to the keep, Sansa saw him walk to the river one evening. And father only walked to the river when he was visiting mother’s grave. Though she knew he wished to be alone, Sansa silently followed him, watching him kneel by the grave as if in prayer.

“Cat,” he began in a soft voice, “Please forgive me for marrying another. I’ve never stopped loving you, but Sansa needs a mother. And I don’t think you would wish for me to be alone for the rest of my life.” He gently brushed the grass at the head of the grave, as if imagining it was the hair of his lost love. “I’ll see you again someday, hopefully when Sansa is married to a kind man and has children of her own.”

~

Cersei was beautiful. There was no other way to describe her. Her hair looked like spun gold, her eyes were as bright as emeralds, and her dresses were as red as the reddest roses Sansa had ever seen. The keep was in awe of her, and all the servants tried their hardest to make sure the new Lady Stark had the best of everything the poor little keep could offer. Of her new siblings, Sansa liked Myrcella and Tommen the best. Though both were younger than her, both were kind and excited to play with her. Joffrey she didn’t like as much, but that was probably because he was older and thought everyone younger than him a silly little child.

Her father seemed happier with Cersei, Sansa felt. She knew enough songs to know that Cersei and her father hadn’t fallen in love at first sight, but that they were slowly getting to know each other and soon would love each other has much as Florian and Jonquil had. That’s what had to happen, right?

~

There was to be a fair in a nearby town. A fair! Sansa was very excited, even though she was to stay at the keep and make sure that Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were still settling in. Before he left, her father asked her if there was anything she wished to be brought back as a gift.

“I’ve asked the rest of our family, Sansa. Cersei would like a red silk dress, Myrcella a green dress of any kind of fabric, Joffrey a real sword, and Tommen a kitten with golden fur.”

“Can we afford all that?”

Her father smiled. “Every once and a while. When your mother was still alive, I brought her back a beautiful brush for her beautiful hair.”

“The same one that I have?”

“The very same. Now, what would you wish for Sansa? I’ll do whatever I can to bring it back to you.”

Sansa thought long and hard, remembering all the stories her father had told her about Winterfell.

“I wish for a weirwood branch, like the trees that grow in the godswood at Winterfell.”

Her father sucked in his breath and looked sad again, and his eyes had a faraway look in them.

“Your wish is my command, little wolf, and by the olds gods I swear to bring you back a weirwood branch so we can grow a heart tree just like the one in Winterfell.”

~

Sansa was practicing her stitches with Cersei and Myrcella when she heard shouts that a party of riders was approaching the gates. _It’s father, I just know it is!_ Disregarding Cersei’s reproaches as she threw her work in a rather messy heap, Sansa lifted her skirts and ran to the gates as fast as her little feet could carry her.

Her father was the first rider to enter the courtyard. He looked exhausted, but at the sight of Sansa running toward him his face lit up with a genuine smile.

But then everything went wrong.

Sansa would remember for years to come how she stood motionless as her father suddenly fell off his horse and lay motionless on the ground. Before his men could reach him, Sansa dashed toward him.

“Father!” she screamed. “Father!”

From the doors to the keep, Sansa recognized Cersei’s frightened shrieks of “Eddard! Eddard!” as she to hurried to where Sansa’s father lay. Both Sansa and Cersei reached Lord Eddard Stark at the same time, turning him over so they could see his face. Sansa realized that the same man who had just smiled at her was gone, and in his place was a man who looked like he was to meet death very soon.

Her father first looked at Cersei, and with labored breaths asked her: “Take care of Sansa. Promise me that you’ll take care of my daughter. As if she were your own.”

Cersei didn’t say anything, watching as Sansa’s father started running his fingers though Sansa’s hair.

“Father…”

“Don’t despair, dear Sansa. I’ll see your mother soon. Cat…you look more like her every day.”

Sansa’s eyes swam with tears as she covered her father’s hand with hers.

“Promise me, Cersei,” said her father, eyes not once leaving Sansa’s face.

“Sansa. I…I…I love you.” And then he was gone.

Cersei was shaking her head, her beautiful golden hair falling out of its intricate twists and braids. “You cannot leave me here!” she cried hysterically. “YOU CANNOT LEAVE ME HERE!”

Sansa might have felt sorry for her, if she wasn’t too busy crying into her father chest, praying hard to the old gods and the new to bring him back.

~

Sansa’s father _had_ succeeded in bringing her back a weirwood branch. It was as white as bone, and there were even a few blood-red leaves still attached to it. After her father was buried, next to her mother by the river, Sansa planted the branch on his grave. Every day she tended to the little branch, watering it with tears just as often as river water. Over the years, the branch grew into a beautiful, tall tree with leaves redder than all of Cersei’s gowns. The only thing missing from the tree was a face—and so Sansa carved a somber one into the smooth white bark, just as she imagined the heart tree at Winterfell from her father’s stories. The eyes wept sap as red and as thick as blood, and did so whenever Sansa visited the tree. She liked to think that the tree was her father watching over her.

~

Sansa soon came to realize that Cersei had no intention of keeping her father’s promise. But then again, Cersei hadn’t promised her father anything.

It had started out innocently enough, with Cersei sweetly asking small favors from Sansa. One day it was to help Old Nan with the mending, for the old woman’s eyes were poor. Then it was to help Marei in the kitchens, for her helper was sick. Sansa was always happy to oblige, for she wanted to please Cersei. Soon, however, she realized that she was always helping the servants and not going to lessons with Myrcella, Tommen, or even arrogant Joffrey. And Myrcella never had to help with mending, cooking, or cleaning either.

“Dear Sansa, the keep has fallen on hard times after you father died. All I ask is that you help around the keep without complaint. Is that so hard? I feed you, dress you, and let you play with my own children, which is more than most orphaned girls of traitors have.”

“But Cersei…” protested Sansa, “Myrcella is also the daughter of a traitor! And your brother killed King Aerys!”

At that, Cersei looked as if she would very much have liked to hit Sansa, but thought better of it. “Your father is no longer the lord of this keep, girl, and don’t you _dare_ mention my brother again. Also, from now on you shall address me as ‘My lady’ or ‘Lady Cersei.’ ”

Resigned to her fate, Sansa looked down at her feet and meekly said: “Yes, my lady.”

~

Ten years later…

There was to be a great ball, hosted by none other than King Rhaegar at his great castle in King’s Landing! The king had decided that it was time for his son, Prince Aegon, to find a bride, and much to the surprise of the kingdom, Prince Aegon was allowed to make the choice himself—as long as she was a lady born of noble blood. Thus, invitations were sent out to all the lords and ladies of the land, cordially inviting their daughters to a grand ball.

Cersei was stunned to receive an invitation, addressed to “Lady Cersei Stark and the ladies of the house.” But soon enough, she was running around the keep, in her element as she plotted and schemed to make sure that Myrcella was the girl that Prince Aegon chose as his future queen.

“Myrcella! This is the chance I have been waiting for your entire life! King Rhaegar must not consider our family traitors any longer, if he thinks you fit to be the bride for his son. Did you know that I came very close to marrying the King? But the mad King Aerys didn’t think a Lannister good enough for his precious prince, and then Rhaegar married that Dornish girl and ran away with that Stark slut…”

Myrcella was listening attentively to her mother, though Sansa, who was secretly watching from a doorway, could tell that her eyes lacked her mother’s manic gleam.

“Do you know if the prince is handsome, mother, or what he’s like?”

“I assume that he looks like his father, and as for what he’s like—well, no one really knows. Prince Aegon has spent very little time at court, from what I’ve heard, spending most of his time traveling the kingdom from Dorne to the Wall. But that shouldn’t matter, for as queen you’ll have more power, wealth, and freedom than you could ever have dreamed of.”

“Will Sansa be coming to the ball, too?” inquired Myrcella.

Cersei looked as though someone had just slapped her in the face, and she noticed Sansa in the doorway. She quickly composed herself, as she always did when she was infrequently caught off guard.

“Sansa, my dear, come in and sit down.”

“My lady,” said Sansa with a curtsey. She remained silent, for she had learned long ago never to speak to Cersei unless spoken to.

“Do you wish to go to King Rhaegar’s ball, even though you’re but a servant with nothing proper to wear?”

“Yes, my lady,” replied Sansa. She paused, and looked to the invitation Cersei was holding in her hand. “The invitation _does_ say ‘to the ladies of the house,’ and it was addressed to ‘Lady Stark.’ I am a Stark.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed. Oblivious to her mother’s glare, Myrcella cheerfully added. “You can borrow one of my dresses. I have so many; I couldn’t possibly wear them all in one night!”

Sansa looked to Cersei pleadingly, willing for her stepmother’s cold gaze to warm and for her mouth to turn into a smile like the ones her father so often gave her.

“You may go,” Cersei began, and as Sansa’s eyes lit up she pointedly added: “ _If_ , and only _if_ , all your chores are completed in time, and that all the floors of this keep are scrubbed clean by then.”

“Of course, my lady, they’ll look as clean as the floors of the Red Keep must be.”

~

That evening, after Cersei had had her bath and had been read to by Sansa, she impelled Sansa to have a glass of wine by the fire with her. Sansa didn’t much care for the heady wine that Cersei liked to drink, but she couldn’t exactly refuse. The lady of the keep was in one of her somber moods, when she would reminisce about the past and all the wonderful things that could have been. Often, she would talk about what life would have been like as queen, or perhaps as Lady of Casterly Rock with her golden brother by her side. Tonight, of all things, she was thinking about Sansa’s father.

“There’s so much of your father in you.”

Sansa’s hadn’t expected to hear that. “Really? I was always told that I look like my mother.”

“I’m sure she was a great beauty in her own way. But it’s not your looks I was referring to. You’re very kind, respectful…” her voice trailed off, as if remembering times long ago when she was happy, or at least as happy as Cersei Lannister was capable of being. “And naïve. He was terribly naïve, and too trusting.”

Sansa’s face fell, and she looked down at her hands. Cersei was the only mother she had ever really known, and Sansa had tried so hard to please her. But nothing she ever did was enough, and Cersei always seemed to find a way to twist her would-be praises into cutting insults. _But Cersei must not have always been like that. Father must have loved her if he married her…and he wouldn’t have married her if he felt that she was cold and cruel._ Before she realized what she was doing, Sansa asked Cersei a question that she had wanted to ask ever since her father brought her to the keep over ten years ago.

“Did you love my father?”

Cersei was silent for a long time, so long that Sansa thought she hadn’t heard. Eventually, though, after taking a long sip of wine and closing her eyes, Cersei said:

“I barely knew him.”

She fell silent again, looking into the fireplace and watching the flames randomly dance. Sansa wished Cersei would say more, but she knew better than to ask.

“Pour me another glass of wine, then go away. I’m tired.”

~

It had taken Sansa many days and many long hours filled with sweat and tears, but she had finally finished every chore Cersei could think to assign her and had scrubbed the floors of the keep until they shown. Cersei would _have_ to let her go the ball after all, for even she wouldn’t go back on her word, right? Myrcella had said that Sansa could wear any of her dresses except the one in green silk with gold stitching on the bodice. Sansa thought she might like the light blue gown, which matched the color of her eyes…

“So this is where you’ve been all day! On your hands and knees like you belong!”

Sansa was startled out of her reverie by Joffrey’s caustic voice, as he entered the keep from the stables with his mother on his arm.

“Joffrey. Lady Cersei,” said Sansa with a small curtsey. As she looked down, however, she noticed that Joffrey’s boots were caked with mud, and he had left a trail of muddy footprints to the door leading from the stables. She covered her mouth in horror.

“It seems, dear Sansa,” said Cersei with a triumphant smile on her face, “That you do not have enough time to clean the floors _and_ get ready for the ball tonight.”

~

Once Cersei, Myrcella, and Joffrey (thank the gods) had left in the carriage to go to the Red Keep, Sansa visited her mother and father’s graves. At the base of the great white weirwood, she cried and cried, telling her parents about Cersei’s unkindness. All she wanted to do was to go to the ball! She had no desire to even set eyes on the prince; Myrcella could marry him for all she cared! She simply wanted to see the beautiful castle, look at the ladies dressed up in their fancy dresses, and hear the musicians sing their songs.

Once Sansa had cried all of her tears, she heard the howl of a wolf. She knew that she should be frightened by the sound, but she always felt comforted because she was reminded of all the times her father had called her his ‘little wolf.’ The wolf howled again, this time from quite nearby. As well, there was a great bubbling in the river, and the eyes of the weirwood started to weep.

From behind the weirwood, a great grey direwolf appeared, a beautiful silver gown trimmed with white draped across its back. From the river, a school of trout made surface, carrying a pair of delicate glass slippers. One of the weirwood’s tears dropped to the ground, and from it sprang an elegant white carriage, complete with white horses with red eyes to pull it.

“Father? Mother?” whispered Sansa, her eyes growing wide at the sight before her. “Is this all a dream?”

In response, the wolf shook his head.

Sansa started to cry again, but this time in happiness. She would be going to the ball! She had one more question for the wolf: “Will all this last forever?” The wolf shook its head again and let out twelve short howls.

_By midnight, then. I’ll be able to have my wish until then._

~

The Red Keep was the most magnificent building Sansa had ever set eyes upon. Its towers seemed to touch the stars, and the courtyard overlooking the sea where the ball was held was decorated with so many colorful banners and flowers that Sansa felt she had walked into a rainbow. From her solitary spot next to a rosebush, Sansa watched the entrance of King Rhaegar. The dragon king was resplendent in black and red silks, and a golden crown set with a hundred rubies graced his head of silver hair. The king was accompanied by a young man who could only be Prince Aegon, for he had the same silvery hair. Also making their entrance with the king was a red-haired man with a badge in the shape of a hand, and a dark-haired young man outfitted in black and red much like the king and prince. Sansa wondered who he was.

When King Rhaegar gave the command for the music to begin, a horde of ladies soon surrounded Prince Aegon, all hoping to be asked to dance. Sansa could see Myrcella among them, doubtless following instructions from her mother. _Poor young man_ , she thought.

As the night continued, Sansa noticed that she was watching the movements of the dark-haired young man in black and red more often than not. He was a good dancer—better than the prince—but none of his partners seemed to be paying him much attention. Alas, all the maidens only had eyes for the silver-haired prince.

Sansa decided to climb to one of the balconies of the Red Keep, to better look down upon the courtyard and all of the dancing. As she leaned against the balcony’s railing, sighing in contentment, she felt something tug at the hem of her dress. When she turned around, she found herself face to face with a massive white direwolf with red eyes. The wolf silently approached her, nosing her hip as if he wished to be petted. Sansa indulged it, amazed at how soft the white fur was. She wondered where the wolf had come from, and if he was another sign from her father…

“Ghost!” shouted an insistent voice from the balcony’s stairwell. For the first time that evening, Sansa was truly frightened, especially as she soon found out that the voice belonged to the dark-haired young man she had been watching. He looked… _why…he looks like father, with his dark hair, long face, and kind grey eyes._ The white direwolf gave Sansa’s hand a lick before bounding to his master’s side. 

“My apologies, my lady,” he said, bowing low. “I had no idea my wolf would decide to attend the ball, as I thought he was hunting in the Kingswood. Are you frightened by him?”

“No, not really. He reminds me of…” Sansa blushed, wondering if he would think her strange for thinking it.

“Yes?”

“He reminds of a weirwood tree. His fur is as white as the bark, and his eyes are as red as the eyes of a heart tree.”

“You’ve been to a godswood?” His eyes lit up and he gave Sansa a genuine, sincere smile that reminded her even more so of her father.

“No,” said Sansa sadly, “But I do have a solitary weirwood tree where I live. It…it gives me comfort.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” came the reply. “Ghost usually isn’t this friendly around people. Especially my father, who he’s never liked, sadly.” He extended a hand to her. “Would you care for a dance, my lady?”

“Most certainly, my Lord…” her voice trailed off, unsure of how to address him.

“Jon. I’m no lord, at least not at the moment.”

~

Not only was Jon a wonderful dancer, but he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know Sansa, asking her all sorts of questions. Sansa happily replied to everything Jon asked, though she was careful not to reveal her name or the fact that she had been a servant for the past ten years. Jon told her stories of his own. Apparently, he had traveled all over the kingdom, from Dorne to the Wall in the far North. King Rhaegar was his kin, he said, and it was expected that all Targaryens be familiar with all the different people and lands over which they ruled. 

Sansa barely registered the bells ringing out the eleventh hour.

After dancing for many songs, Jon led Sansa to the Red Keep’s extensive gardens. It was pleasant, simply walking with him (and his direwolf, who was never far behind). Sansa wondered how a Targaryen had come to tame a direwolf instead of a dragon, as per their house sigil. But that was a story for another day, Jon told her. _Another day. As if I’ll ever see him again._

“My lady,” began Jon, “I’ve danced with you and talked to you all night, yet I still don’t know your name. Do you ever intend to tell me?”

“You wouldn’t want to know it.”

Jon seemed puzzled. “Anyone who Ghost likes from the start is surely someone worth knowing.”

When Sansa remained silent, Jon tried a different tactic.

“You’ve told me an awful lot about your father, and how much you love and respect him. Pray tell me your _father’s_ name, so I may ask about you from him.”

“My father was a traitor to the crown, back during the Rebellion,” said Sansa in a rush. “If the king is your kin, you would not wish to be seen with a traitor’s daughter.”

“The war is long over, and you played no part in it, my lady.” Sansa looked at Jon’s eyes again, and maybe it was the surreal atmosphere of the ball, but she could almost swear that her father was looking back through them.

The bells started ringing, tolling midnight.

“Stark. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He was my father.” Jon looked stunned to hear that, and before his astonishment could turn into hatred or displeasure, Sansa took off. She ran from the gardens as fast as her glass slippers could carry her, listening to Jon’s cries fade into the distance:

“My lady! Please come back! I’m begging you!”

~

It was only before dawn, when Sansa’s grey gown had turned into rags and the white carriage and white horses had turned into a simple cart and mules, that she realized that she was still wearing a glass slipper on one foot. She wondered where she had lost the other…probably when she ran away from Jon.

Jon…Sansa sighed into her pillow, not yet wanting to wake up and begin her daily chores. She would likely never see him again, but she would forever remember the ball as the happiest night of her life.

~

After the ball, Cersei was ecstatic. Myrcella hadn’t been announced as Prince Aegon’s future wife yet, but she _had_ danced many dances with him. And a letter had been delivered to the keep soon after, announcing that Prince Aegon would soon be visiting.

As soon as riders carrying the royal standard of a red, three-headed dragon on black were sighted, Cersei made sure that the entire household was in their proper places, and that Myrcella appeared as radiant as possible in the same red silk gown that Eddard Stark had brought back to Cersei from the fair so many years ago. Sansa had been forbidden from meeting the prince or coming anywhere near Myrcella, which she was happy to do so, retreating to her weirwood tree. She wished Myrcella much happiness, of course, but Sansa would rather not be around Cersei if and when Prince Aegon proposed.

At the weirwood tree, however, Sansa found that she wasn’t the only one wishing to visit it.

Jon was standing in front of the tree, tracing the somber face with his fingers as Ghost sniffed its base. Upon hearing Sansa’s footsteps, Jon turned around, smiling at the sight of Sansa.

Sansa blushed, and before she realized what she was saying, she blurted out: “What are you doing here?”

“Weren’t you informed that Prince Aegon would be visiting the keep?”

“Of course, but I assumed that was to see Myrcella, who danced with him many times at the ball…”

“Myrcella?” Jon thought for a moment. “You must mean Cersei Lannister’s daughter, the girl with hair like spun gold. I remember seeing her.”

“But,” Sansa started, utterly confused, “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here. If you’re accompanying Prince Aegon, why aren’t you with him now?”

Jon gave a short laugh. “Do you even know what Prince Aegon looks like, my lady?”

“He has silver hair, like his father King Rhaegar,” Sansa replied automatically. “I saw him at the ball, though I never danced with him.”

Jon laughed again. “You saw only what you wished to see, and what most everyone thought to see. Did it ever occur to you that Prince Aegon might look like his mother, Lyanna Stark, who had dark brown hair and grey eyes?”

Sansa started at Jon. And stared and stared. _Lyanna Stark, that’s father’s sister, who King Rhaegar kidnapped. Father never told me that she had a child…._ Sansa opened her mouth to say something intelligent, some demand that Jon tell her who he really was and why he hadn’t told her the truth from the beginning. But the only world that she could manage was: “Why?”

“Why?” responded Jon, coming to stand right in front of her. “Why did I never tell you or announce to anyone at the ball that I was Prince Aegon, rather than my silver-haired friend, Aegon Mopatis?”

Jon lightly put his hands on Sansa’s shoulders, impelling her to look at him.

“As a prince, you’re too often seen as _what_ you are instead of _who_ you are. And in choosing a wife, it’s my hope to find someone who will—if not right away but eventually—see me not as Prince Aegon, but Jon. Jon was the name my mother wished to call me before she died in childbirth, and my father, King Rhaegar, kept her wish; though of course I had to have a Targaryen name as well.”

Sansa still didn’t know what to say.

“May I confess something to you, my lady?”

Slowly, Sansa nodded.

“Recently, I visited Winterfell, the home of my mother’s—and _your_ family as well. It’s more a ruin than the grand castle it used to be, I’ve been told, but upon my request my father gave me permission to restore it. At least, that was my plan.”

“So your plans have changed?” said Sansa with a shaky voice. Jon’s hands were warm on her shoulders, and he was so close…

“Yes, rather drastically in fact, ever since the ball. But restoring the castle is still my goal.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you have an inkling, my lady? Why do you think I would travel to this remote little keep? Just to return your missing glass slipper?” He looked Sansa straight in her eyes. “I would like to restore Winterfell with you by my side…as my wife, if you’ll have me. If not, I would still like to restore Winterfell, but as a gift to you as the new Lady of Winterfell, to honor my late mother and uncle.”

“You wish to do all that for me?”

“Yes, Sansa.”

“Say that again.”

Jon blinked. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Not that,” said Sansa, shaking her head. “The part where you said my name.”

“Sansa,” whispered Jon. “Sansa, Sansa, Sansa…” And with that, Jon twirled her around as if they were back dancing at the ball, Ghost running circles around them as Sansa couldn’t stop saying the world “Yes!” More wolves howled in the distance, and hundreds of trout began to leap from the river.

~

So whatever happened to Cersei? Upon seeing Jon and Sansa walking back to the keep, Cersei Lannister Baratheon Stark was convinced that she was seeing a ghost. Eddard Stark had come back to haunt her and to punish her for never keeping his promise to raise Sansa like her own daughter. Prince Aegon hadn’t come to propose marriage to Myrcella after all, but to Sansa, the Targaryen guards had said…

“Eddard!” she screamed, as she threw herself and Jon’s feet, oblivious to Jon’s true identity. Years and years of guilt welled up inside her, as well as all the regrets that she would often brood about by the fireplace at night. “Please forgive me for all I’ve done!” Jon looked at her, utterly bewildered as Cersei collapsed in a dead faint.

~

And so Sansa and her prince lived happily ever after. And Sansa’s childhood dream of Winterfell? It came true, except that the dark-haired king and auburn-haired queen weren’t her father and mother, but her husband and her.

THE END


End file.
